


The Final Problem Solved

by papercaper



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Like you won't feel the need to pick up a Bible after reading it, Little bit o' fluff and a little bit o' angst, Molly's POV, One Shot, Post TFP, Slightly smutty but the rating is more just to be cautious than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercaper/pseuds/papercaper
Summary: Sherlock pays Molly a visit to explain the phone call and show her that she counts.





	The Final Problem Solved

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello and welcome to the story! Not much to say except I hope you guys have fun reading it, and this is my first time ever writing anything even remotely close to smut, so feel free to let me know if I nailed it or if you grimaced the whole time and fought to finish it. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: title was changed after posting! Apologies for any confusion.

Hot, prickling tears stung at the corners of Molly’s eyes as she coddled the phone closer to her and tried futilely to keep herself under control and her face from crumbling even if he couldn’t see it. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, shaking breath.

_If it’s true, just say it anyway._

He’d done as she asked, to her surprise, said what she’d told him to, and she needed to hold up her end of the deal and say those three words back. But it was so much _easier_ for him. He didn’t mean it. He obediently recited it, like she’d given him a line to perform in a play. The words held no attachment to his heart, regardless of the way his voice made it sound. It was unfair to her and not to him, like everything else pertaining to Sherlock. _It was all so damned unfair_.

The tears flowed over and she felt their warmth rolling down her cheeks just as his urgent, pleading voice came through the phone again.

“Molly?”

He sounded so tense and panicked, and under any other circumstance her concern for him would’ve overridden everything else. But she was embarrassed, and angry, and it was _him_ , and she _just wanted to make some fucking tea, why couldn’t he just_ —

“Molly, please.”

She breathed in one more time and fought the urge to hang up. Three words. He needed her to say three words. She could do it. She’d done harder things before, even if none were coming to mind right now. Three short words. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, until she saw abstract, dancing colors, and then—

“I love you.”

The line was silent on the other end. She didn’t move. She didn’t _dare_ breathe. She simply waited.

And waited.

And then the line hung up.

She blinked and opened her eyes, vision blurred by the wetness.

“Sherlock?”

Nothing. She held the phone out and stared at the little letters, ‘call ended,’ before they disappeared from the screen. She stood paralyzed a little longer in shock and confusion before putting the phone back down on the counter slowly. Then she walked to her couch, sat down, and cried. And kept crying until the sun had gone down and her throat was raw and aching and her eyes felt like they were pulsing and her stomach was sore and nauseated and she couldn’t physically cry anymore.

It was directed more at herself than anyone, she supposed. It was her fault for falling in love with him in the first place. It was her fault for asking him to coffee, for giving him complete free reign in the morgue, for nearly marrying a man who was practically a prototype of the real thing, for willingly being a mediocre excuse of a replacement to him when John was away.

It was her fault for answering her cell in the first place.

How very Molly Hooper it was to have fallen for a man who barely qualified as a human being at times, and who would have less of a chance of loving her back than anyone she could ever meet or think of meeting. She was to blame for the pain. He was simply being himself, and she was the one making problems out of it. She hated him. She hated her. She hated feelings, and love, and everything else that was wracking her heart.

Tears that she didn’t know she still had stored somewhere began to leak down her face once again, and a wave of tiredness washed over her. It wasn’t sleep that she wanted, exactly, just respite. Just to be _away_ from all of this. But sleep was the closest she could get at the moment, so she got up to get a warm blanket and snuggled into the couch for the evening, trying and failing to think of anything other than the phone call.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five days passed before she heard anything from Sherlock.

Under the circumstances, she was grateful for that fact on its own. However, John Watson had mysteriously vanished as well.

She hadn’t thought much of it at first, figuring the two were probably just on a case, until her shift came to babysit Rosie and John never arrived to pick up his daughter. She called Mrs. Hudson, who seemed equally worried, but told Molly she hadn’t been living at 221B on account of a recent explosion there, so she couldn’t be sure of anything the boys were doing. She then tried Lestrade, who seemed completely oblivious to their having gone missing in the first place, but promised to look into it to ease her mind.

It was on the fifth day of his absence that she read in the newspaper about the incarceration of a homicidal, psychopathic, prison escapee by the name of Eurus Holmes. Almost definitely related to the world-renowned detective Sherlock Holmes, the papers said, seeing as he had been present at her arrest along with his partner, John Watson, and his brother. All three men were admitted to a hospital shortly thereafter, but having been found relatively (physically) unharmed, were all discharged within a couple of days.

She put down the paper and let her concern and her hatred for Sherlock battle against each other before concern won out (as it always seemed to do) and she decided to pay 221B a visit. She sucked in a breath, put on a brave face, and shrugged on a jacket, then headed for the door.

She opened it to be greeted by none other than Sherlock Holmes (looking a little worse for wear, if she was honest) with his fist raised and ready to knock. A look of surprise passed over his face briefly before it resumed its normal, emotionless countenance.

“Molly.”

Molly, for her part, was speechless. She realized a few seconds too late it was her turn to respond and she shook her head in an attempt to clear the shock.

“Sh—Sherlock.”

He waited for her to say more and looked a little uncomfortable when she didn’t, then raised a brow.

“Well, now that we’ve established names, may I?”

He gestured inside her home as a silent question for an invitation and she nodded.

“Y—yes, of course. Yeah, come in. Sorry.”

He’d hardly said two words to her and she was already stammering and apologizing needlessly. She could’ve _sworn_ she’d gotten over that months ago. But why shouldn’t it come back to plague her _now_ of all times?

She followed him inside, shutting the door behind them. An awkward silence ensued for a few seconds and she briefly wondered why on earth he’d shown up at all if he didn’t have any clear purpose for it.

She cleared her throat and moved to the kitchen, rummaging aimlessly through items sitting on her kitchen counter. “Um, I can make tea or… something, if you’d like. I know you usually drink coffee, but I think I might be out.”

He’d already moved to sit down on a living chair and he shook his head.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh. Okay.” She put her things back down and joined him in the living room, taking her own usual spot on the sofa with her knees tucked under her woolly blanket. She risked a glance at him, but he seemed off in his own world entirely. His eyes were cast somewhere across the room and his fingers drummed on the arm of the chair while he thought. Finally, he exhaled heavily and met her eyes.

“I see you’ve been reading the papers.”

He cocked his head a little toward the newspaper lying on her table, opened to the page detailing his crazed secret sister. She felt sheepish, like she’d been caught prying into his personal life, though it was about as public as it could be right now. She shifted uncomfortably under her blanket.

“Yeah, I have. Are you… I mean, is she really your sister?”

He nodded slowly and looked away again.

“Yes. Bit of an unlucky streak in my genes, it seems. And I’d thought Mycroft was difficult to deal with.”

There was an element of forced humor in his voice, but his features were darkened and haunted. She wondered if she’d be overstepping her boundaries to ask him exactly what happened, and decided against it. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. She decided on a broader question instead.

“Sherlock, are you… okay?”

He didn’t give any indication that he’d even heard the question, so she rambled on.

“I mean, I don’t really know… what happened, but you were _hospitalized_ , and—“ She stopped herself. “Wait. Was it because of the drugs?”

He looked up at her with his brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Well, you were practically a dead man walking during that whole case with the serial killer a week ago. It hasn’t gotten _worse_ , has it? If you’ve been stupid enough to continue the way you were—”

He rolled his eyes.

“You do an incredible impersonation of John, you know.”

“Answer the question!”

He let out an overdramatic, exasperated sigh.

“No. I haven’t used whatso _ever_ since the arrest of Culverton Smith. Is _that_ answer satisfactory for you?”

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Promise?”

He shot her a sharp look without any real anger or frustration behind it.

“Molly, for God’s sake. Would you like to run a blood test here in your living room?”

She smiled a little and held up her hands.

“Okay, okay. I believe you. But… then, what’s got you all…”

She gestured to his disheveled appearance. He sighed heavily and brought a hand to his forehead.

“It’s been an… interesting few days, to say the least. I would like to inform you of exactly what’s happened. I figured I owe you an explanation or two.”

She tried not to let the bitterness leftover from the phone call show in her features, and simply nodded instead.

“Yeah, I—I think that’d be good.”

She barely caught sight of one corner of his mouth quirking up before it was gone. Then he drew in a deep breath, and proceeded to tell Molly all about one of the most horrifying, inhumane, and really, just outright grotesque experiences she’d ever heard. He cycled through the dark family secret Mycroft shared with him all the way through the cold-blooded murder of three brothers, suspended on ropes then carelessly chucked into the ocean like a fisherman throwing his fish back out to sea.

Molly listened in repulsed fascination, and while she wasn’t about to stop Sherlock, she couldn’t imagine why he’d shown up just to recount the seemingly endless murders he’d witnessed. Then he stopped abruptly and looked like he was preparing himself for what came next. She leaned forward a little in her chair instinctively to reach out, but realized he was too far away in his seat opposite hers, so she just rested her elbows on her knees and watched him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, then with a sigh, returned to his normal disposition, though he didn’t meet her eyes.

“After the Garrideb brothers were… released, we were sent into the next room. It was…”

He trailed off and seemed to reconsider his words.

“The only things inside were the screen Eurus used to speak with us, and a coffin with a sentence inscribed on the lid.”

Molly tilted her head a little in confusion.

“Well, that doesn’t sound as bad as the other rooms. Unless there was a surprise body in the coffin, I suppose,” she added with a small chuckle, trying desperately to add _some_ sort of relief to the horrors he narrated.

He finally looked up at her, then, and his blue eyes were so full of some unnamed emotion she felt her breath hitch. The next words he spoke were careful and deliberate, as if they took great effort for him to say.

“The coffin was designed specifically for you, Molly.”

She felt her blood run cold and froze.

“Wh—What do you mean? I—how could you know that, I mean?”

He looked down again and started speaking faster.

“The first part of the—of the _game_ —was to deduce who the coffin might have belonged to. Eurus told us someone was going to die soon and the coffin belonged to them. The dimensions, body type, socioeconomic status—everything about the coffin, really, aligned with your characteristics perfectly. Those things, along with the inscription on the lid, made it clear it was tailored exactly to you.”

She nodded slowly, trying to process it all.

“What did the inscription say?”

He tensed. His gaze was practically boring holes into her floor.

“It said—“

He stopped and hesitated, then started again.

“It said ‘I love you.’”

A wave of nausea washed over Molly as she put the pieces together and figured out where he was going with the story.

_Molly, this is for a case. It’s a sort of experiment._

_It’s not a game. I need you to help me._

She closed her eyes and braced herself for more as he continued.

“Eurus told us a bomb was rigged to explode in your flat unless you said the release code yourself, within a time frame of three minutes. The release code being—“

“I love you,” Molly whispered at the same time he said it as she felt a weight drop to her stomach. He nodded.

“It wasn’t until after the call ended that she informed us there was never any real threat. The explosive didn’t exist, except to add time sensitivity to the situation.”

She didn’t say anything at all for a bit, choosing to let the information sink in instead. She’d been standing in her kitchen that day, petulantly ignoring the vibrations of her phone while Sherlock had been watching a countdown to her demise. She suddenly felt like an immature child. She’d put everyone in danger, including herself and anyone in the vicinity of her flat, because she didn’t _feel_ like answering a call from Sherlock. Everything became blurred and out of focus as tears welled up in her eyes and she buried her head in her hands to hide them.

“I’m sorry,” she forced out through the thickness in her throat. “I didn’t—If I’d known, I would’ve picked up the first time you called, and I—“ her voice broke off, and she struggled to regain control of it. “I would’ve just said it right away, instead of making you and—and John, and Mycroft wait for—“

She felt two warm, firm hands wrap around her wrists and pull them gently away from her face. Sherlock knelt on the floor in front of her with the closest expression to sympathy she’d ever seen him wear. He released one of her wrists to drag a thumb across both her cheeks and wipe off the tears, then returned both hands to her wrists and sighed. “Don’t apologize, Molly. There was no way you could’ve known. That was the point.”

He released her wrists and sat back, looking like he was about to say something else before Molly interrupted him.

“No, I should’ve figured it out. Your voice, on the phone, was—I knew something was wrong, I _knew_ it, but I didn’t bother asking what because I was just so _angry_ , and I didn’t want to deal with any of it right then, so I just—“

“Deal with what?”

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to deal with ‘it.’ By ‘it’, you mean me?”

She blinked, and another tear rolled down her cheek.

“Well, not—no, not necessarily, I just…”

His hand covered hers where it laid on top of her knee and she suspected it was a comfort to make her less flustered and hysterical. It didn’t.

“I’m not accusing you,” he said softly. “Just trying to clarify.”

She stared at him for a moment before a bittersweet smile snuck its way onto her face and she chuckled sadly, though it came out more as sniveling from the aftermath of her crying.

“You really don’t make any sense sometimes, d’you know that? You’re like a walking oxymoron.”

A crease formed between his brows. “How so?”

She glanced up in thought and half-smiled.

“I dunno, you just—one minute you’re like some sort of machine, working away in the lab, beating corpses, and that sort of thing. Like you just don’t care. About… well, anything, really. Anything but science and experiments, I suppose.” Her face turned thoughtful. “And then out of nowhere, you… You do this. You just become more… human than any human I know. You have emotions, and you care about people, and…”

She trailed off, unsure whether she’d overstepped her boundaries in answering his question, and waited for him to respond instead. He looked lost in thought for a while then the crease deepened as he looked up at her from his spot on the floor.

“And that’s a bad thing?”

She looked down at him, perplexed. “Well, yes. It is.”

He tilted his head in confusion and for all the world, Molly thought he perfectly resembled a puppy. A scruffy, post-trauma, rehab-bound puppy, but a puppy nonetheless.

“I’ve found it’s a good balance that promotes maximum efficiency. Both in my scientific endeavors and my personal ones.”

“Well… maybe, yes. But when you act all... like you’re acting now—you know, like a person— it makes it harder all the times you act like a robot, since I _know_ you’re actually capable of feeling. You’re just choosing not to. And sometimes that means you choose to be, well, a bit horrible at times. It’s not that you can’t help it, because you can. You know better. You just do it anyway.”

He took that into consideration and almost looked a little hurt by her assessment. Part of her felt guilty for being so brutally honest with him, but the frustration of her feelings for him were still deeply affecting her and showing in her words, despite herself. He’d come all the way here to explain away the call that had broken her heart, to right the wrongs, and she was repaying him in insults. She flinched internally.

 _Way to go, Molly. This is definitely how you’re gonna win him over_.

“I’m sorry.” His deep voice chimed into her thoughts. She frowned at him.

“What?”

He met her eyes from where he sat and took a breath.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t previously considered what you just explained, but you’re right. I suppose I can be a bit contradictory of myself from time to time. I wasn’t aware it bothered you so much.”

Well, she certainly hadn’t expected that.

She stared at him blankly, then sat back and snuggled deeper into her blanket to settle in. This was going to be a long  evening, she could tell already. Unfortunate, seeing as she didn’t really want to speak at all with her conversation partner in the first place. She just shrugged and shook her head.

“I—thank you. It’s fine. It’s just who you are, I suppose.”

“What would you suggest I do about it, then?”

  _Okay. Time to get comfortable._ She sighed and patted the couch.

“Well, first, you should sit up here. I don’t know why you’re still on the floor.”

He glanced down as if he hadn’t noticed where he was until that moment, then obediently stood up and sat back down near her spot on the couch.

While he was adjusting, she stood up and looked at him.

“Next, I’m making tea. I know you don’t need it, but I do. Badly.”

“Actually, I think I’ll have some too, if you don’t mind.”

She raised her eyebrows a little but nodded and did as he asked, and minutes later she was snuggling back into her spot and handing him his cup.

“Sorry if it’s a little too hot. I never really know how to—“

She stopped short and gasped as he reached out to take it from her. His hand looked like it’d gone through a shredder. With five smaller shredders and Mike Tyson inside.

She derailed the tea to set it on a table and he made a noise of protest before she took his hand in hers and turned it over.

“Sherlock… what happened to you? I thought Eurus didn’t physically harm the three of you. What’s…”

She looked at it closer and cringed a little, imagining what it must feel like. Cuts and bruises adorned practically every inch his hand, with little swollen bumps scattered throughout and scars just beginning to form. She looked at him fearfully.

He looked hesitant to answer, and chose his words slowly and carefully.

“She didn’t. I, um…”

He seemed uncomfortable and she couldn’t imagine why. Was he lying about being unharmed in the first place? But why would that matter?

“After I—she—called you, I… lost control a bit. Smashed the coffin. It—wasn’t my brightest idea, to be fair, but it certainly helped relieve some of the stress for a minute or two.”

Molly was speechless. Of all the horrors he’d faced in that gruesome, death-ridden labyrinth, he got _that_ pissed about a stupid phone call?

“Why?” She blurted out before she could stop herself, then shook her head. “Sorry, I mean, why did you smash the coffin? You won, didn’t you? You saved me and my flat. No one was hurt.”

He looked at her so intensely her breathing faltered for a moment. He looked pained and weary, but his eyes were bright with emotion.

“I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Do you?”

She felt some redness rise to her cheeks and ducked her head.

“You know I mean. Nobody important was hurt. You and John and Mycroft were all fine, and there wasn’t a bomb, so—“

He cut her off by holding up a hand and he looked appalled. She recoiled a little. “What?”

“For God’s sake, Molly—nobody _important_?” He echoed. “What have I told you— _been_ —telling you, actually, for over two years now? Do you think I just watched Eurus hang up the phone and continued on like nothing had happened?” He looked either furious or just plain exhausted. Or both. She’d never seen either emotion in his face so she couldn’t quite tell. He lifted his injured hand out of hers and placed it firmly on her shoulder and gestured at her with his other hand, and she couldn’t help her eyes widening in surprise.

“You count. You _matter_ , far more than I think you realize. You are irreplaceable. I don’t know what else I can do to convince you of this, but it’s true.”

Molly tried to look away, down, _anywhere_ but him because she didn’t think she had the strength to look into those blazing blue eyes any longer. She stared down into her lap for all of two seconds before she felt him take hold of her chin and lift her head back up, eye level with his own. Her mouth fell open and she drew a sharp intake of breath while he continued.

“And if simply telling you isn’t enough, the proof is in the phone call and the coffin. The fact that Eurus used you at _all_ is proof. She employed ‘emotional context’ to make the game more challenging for me. She pinpointed my weak spots and used them against me. My friendship with John, my experiences with Moriarty—“

He leaned in closer to her, eyes never leaving hers, and she felt like she was suffocating.

“—and you.”

Her brain raced with the sight of it all. She loved him. She loved him so much, and that wonderful, beautiful face of his was just within reach of her own, and his _lips_ —she licked her own without realizing it—they were so perfect, and so close, and if she just leaned forward a _little_ …

He cleared his throat quietly and glanced down, and she realized with horror she’d been staring straight at the object of her thoughts. She raised her eyes back up to his for a moment before they darted around, seemingly without her control, with no idea where to look. From the corner of her vision she saw him tilt his head and regard her carefully as if observing an experiment, then he inhaled a little.

“Molly—“

She stood up, far too abruptly for it to be considered anything less than an escape, and started for the kitchen.

“Hold on, I’m, um. I’m just gonna grab some more tea, I think. It’s gotten a little chilly, so.”

She rolled her eyes at herself when she was turned away from him.

 _Chilly my arse._ He could’ve lit her on fire and it wouldn’t have felt much different than how she did now. Her cheeks burned and she was pretty sure she was sweating out of every last pore on her body. It was a horrible excuse and a blatant lie anyway, seeing as her current cup of tea was barely touched and _completely visible to him._ She made it to the counter and preoccupied herself with the preparations on the stove until he spoke again. From right behind her.

“Molly, look at me.”

She practically jumped out of her skin and whirled around to face him as if he’d suddenly teleported there just to scare her, which she wasn’t completely dismissing. _Of course he and his big dramatic coat would move silently like some sort of fucking ghost_.

Not only had he suddenly appeared in her kitchen, she observed; he’d suddenly appeared in her kitchen _much_ too close to her, to the point where he was practically looming over her. He stared earnestly into her face and pursed his lips together impatiently.

“Why do you think I came to your flat?”

Her forehead wrinkled with confusion and she looked up at him.

“Well… you said it was to explain everything that happened. With—your sister. Right?”

He shook his head.

“I did mention my desire to clarify the events that took place under Eurus’s control, but I could’ve phoned you or sent John; he was involved in them just as much as I was. So, make a deduction.”

He took a small step closer to her and suddenly she was too warm again. Her breath sped up against her will and she tried not to let it show.

“If I had numerous other ways of informing you what’s happened, why should I be standing here, in your kitchen?”

She hoped desperately he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest, because she heard it clear as day. She glanced off to the side nervously. _What the hell was he doing?!_

“To—to tell me in person? I don’t—“

He nodded.

“Yeeees, but what’s the benefit of a face-to-face conversation as opposed to an electronic one? Why favour one over the other?”

He moved impossibly closer and wrapped his slender fingers around her wrists. She felt the rough callouses on his fingertips against the sensitive skin of her wrists and struggled to answer though her quick, labored breathing, which she now worried was bordering on hyperventilating.

“W—Well, I suppose the main difference would be the sensory effects. In person, y—you can smell the things around you, and what’s going on, and, you know, taste it, and feel it…”

He nodded slowly, and the motion almost caused his nose to brush hers.

“Exactly. And, seeing as you refuse to accept or understand my sentiments when I simply _tell_ them to you, I think perhaps it would be more successful to _show_ you. Made most effective by employing feel—”

He moved both hands up from her wrists up her arms with a teasing, aching slowness, one hand molding against her cheek, the other tangling itself gently in her hair. Her eyes slid closed of their own accord and she sighed quietly, leaning into the feel of his warm, smooth palm against her face. Her loud apprehension started to fade to the back of her mind as the feeling and proximity of him took over her thoughts. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what he was thinking or why he was doing this, but she was determined to enjoy every second of it.

His thumb moved carefully and deliberately from the top of her cheek down to the corner of her mouth, then lightly traced the outline of her lips. She gasped a little and her eyes opened wide to look at him, but his gaze was focused entirely on her mouth, and not much else. He swallowed and when he spoke next his voice was almost unbearably low and sounded like it was already off in another world entirely.

“—and taste.”

He lowered his lips to hers, closing the small gap between them, and Molly made a small noise of surprise against his mouth. She felt him smirk for a fleeting moment before pressing his lips against hers a little more firmly and insistently until she regained enough sense to react.

She parted her lips and moved rhythmically with his while her hands came up to rest on his neck. She had imagined this a million times, in a million different ways, with a million different outcomes, but the tangible feeling of those warm, full lips against hers blew any fantasies she’d ever had out of the water. He smelled like the rainy London weather and the clean, crisp scent that seemed to inexplicably follow him everywhere, mixed in with a faint aroma of the typical chemicals that sat in 221B, and all around just so very _Sherlock_ that she wanted to cry.

The hand woven through her hair balled into a tugging little fist and her mind went from producing a thousand thoughts a second to none at all. She moved her hands around to the back of his neck to pull herself closer, and was rewarded in turn with his hand moving from her cheek to roam over the small of her back.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she ran her tongue teasingly along his bottom lip and a small, absolutely endearing mix between a sigh and a moan escaped him before he parted his lips further and matched her motions. She deepened the kiss experimentally, trying to savor the moment for as long as possible while still making progress. She circled that smart tongue of his with her own and his hand on her back dug lightly into her skin. It brushed her lower back and sent sparks through her body, causing her to arch up into him. He let out another growl from deep in his throat and suddenly took both her hips in his hands and hauled her up onto the counter behind him.

She gasped, first with surprise, then with pleasure as he started pressing warm, intoxicating kisses along the underside of her jaw. His hands laid flat against the counter on either side of her to support him and she tangled her own hands in his hair as he worked. He gently bit the side of her throat, right around her pulse, and her grip tightened considerably, causing him to wince a little in pain. He gave her a small grin and raised his eyebrows.

“You’re stronger than you look.”

She smiled back and giggled.

“Well, hauling all those bodies around the morgue, you know.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shook his head a little.

“Still with the morgue jokes? _Now_?”

Her smile grew wider and she didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him instead because she could. He reciprocated very willingly and soon picked up where he left off, trailing quick, firm kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. His hands left the counter to pull off her jacket, then to her blouse, where they stopped and hesitated over the first button. He pulled back and gave her a look that asked silently for permission, and she gave him a small breathless nod in return. His face was more flushed than she’d ever seen it, she noticed to her delight, and his eyes were wide and focused on her, and her alone. His hands returned to her buttons and she realized vacantly that they were shaking, just a little. It was horribly endearing and her hands covered his almost automatically before she drew them to her lips and kissed them.

He gave her a small smile and went back to work on her blouse while she assisted him until only her bra was left, and he reached around to unclasp it until she stopped him. He frowned inquiringly and Molly gestured with her head to the hallway.

“Bedroom’s that way—it might be better.”

He nodded with a breathy little “ah, right,” and she hopped off the counter and took his hand to lead him.

They found their way down the hall and the moment Molly opened the door, Sherlock scooped her up again so that she straddled his waist and kissed her soundly. It was far more heated and urgent than the ones exchanged in the kitchen and she made a startled little noise, despite herself, before returning it. Her entire body heated up as she pressed it against his and she felt a warm wetness begin to gather between her legs.

He deposited her lying face-up on the bed and climbed over her as his lips moved down her body, eventually landing on the portion of her breast not hidden by the material of the bra, and gave her a wet, biting kiss there she was sure would leave a mark.

He reached behind her to attempt unclasping her bra once more and she sat up as much as she could to help. She waited a moment, then another, and couldn’t help but giggle when she felt his fingers still fumbling with the clasp half a minute later. He gave a frustrated sigh and pressed his lips together.

“I can’t stand these things. They’re so needlessly complicated.”

She gave him a silly grin and reached her own hands back to help.

“Yeah, but I’d rather them be complicated than coming undone all the time. Wouldn’t want to be walking around the hospital half-exposed all the time just because the clasp wouldn’t work.”

He tilted his head as though considering it and shrugged a shoulder.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

She gaped playfully and gave him a light little smack on the shoulder. “Sherlock!”

He grinned and let out a low, delicious chuckle that somehow had Molly more turned on than the kissing did. She blushed, and finally worked the clasp undone and slipped the bra down her arms and off.

The smile on Sherlock’s face died immediately and he simply stared at her for a moment. Not just at her breasts, or anywhere in particular, but just at her as a whole, as if admiring a work of art. His face held its usual, sharp focus mixed with something akin to reverence.

Molly fidgeted under his gaze and after it’d gone on just a _bit_ too long for her, she cleared her throat.

“Um… Sherlock? Still there?”

His eyes raised to hers and he gave her a nod.

“Just… storing the image.”

God. Even in bed he talked like Siri.

“Storing it?”

“Mm.” He tapped on his temple a couple times. “Mind palace, remember?”

She vaguely remembered him explaining the concept to her years ago and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I remember you talking about it a while back.” Her face brightened and she tilted her head as something donned on her. “Wait. I’ve got a spot in your mind palace?”

He looked at her with the same disbelief he tended to give Anderson every time he opened his mouth at a crime scene.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, I just… What is it that I do in there, exactly?”

He squinted off to the side for a bit as he seemed to consider.

“I often find that people stored in it represent larger, abstract concepts, and only appear in times of crisis, depending on what’s needed most. John, for example, tends to appear in times of emotional crisis. He provides companionship.” His eyes returned to hers as he continued. “You are the epitome of order and control. You provide logic and a sort of… steadiness. When Mary shot me a few months ago, you were among the last faces I saw before what I assumed would be my death. You explained what had happened and what I needed to do in order to survive as my body entered a state of shock. You… saved my life, in a way.”

Her eyes widened as she processed the information. She’d never have guessed she played anywhere near that important of a role to him.

Her thoughts were cut short as his lips returned to hers and his warm hand laid lightly on her stomach, tickling the skin over her ribcage. He spread his thumb out so that it caressed the underside of her breast and left it there for a bit, smoothing it back and forth over her skin until it felt so tender the touch of his callouses almost hurt. He seemed to notice and slid his hand up until his thumb brushed over her nipple, immediately causing it to harden and sending goosebumps rising over her body. She arched into him and gasped his name quietly, which seemed to encourage him. He kept his thumb there, teasing the nipple while his mouth slid down to the other one and he drew it gently between his teeth. Molly’s hands automatically clutched his hair as he swirled his tongue playfully around, sucking and biting until she was writhing beneath him.

The thought suddenly hit her that he was still fully clothed, and that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She gently pushed up on his shoulders and whispered his name. He withdrew reluctantly and sat back on his heels with an eyebrow arched in question until she began to push that wonderful blazer he always wore off his shoulders. He understood and immediately obliged, removing it the rest of the way along with the button-up he wore beneath.

She stopped and admired the sight of his body, including the hardening bulge forming below his waistline, and ran her hands from his torso, up over his nipples to rest on his shoulders. He shivered at the contact and she smiled. He was so gorgeous, like a meticulously carved white marble statue. His muscles were perfectly toned everywhere she could see, which was odd, since she didn’t think she’d ever once seen him exercise.

The thought was forced to the back of her mind as he drew her body into his lap, flush against his and her bare breasts grazed against him. He swallowed thickly and Molly startled at feeling his erection pressed against her where she sat. She rocked down against him once experimentally, then again, and his eyes fell shut as he groaned.

After recovering, he leaned forward to press a kiss behind her ear and she felt how hot his skin was. Her nipples pressed harder up against his chest and he traced a delicate finger down along her spine until she shivered. He took a small breath against her ear and shakily whispered, “Molly, I need to tell you—about the phone call, it—“

A loud ringing interrupted him from across the room and made both of them jump. Molly laughed a little after the alarm had subsided and glanced at him. “Yours?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “I should get it. I wouldn’t normally, but with everything that’s just happened—“

She waved him off nonchalantly and nodded. “By all means.”

He gave her an apologetic smile and stood up to retrieve his phone. She noticed him scowl at the name on the screen before he picked up and practically snarled a “What do you want?”

The room was quiet enough for Molly to hear both parties of the conversation and she raised her eyebrows as she heard a response come through.

“Hello to you too, brother mine. It seems a new development has—“

He cut the sentence short and fell silent for a moment before resuming.

“It seems I’ve interrupted something. Exercise or coitus?”

Sherlock paled and faltered in his answer. “I—I don’t—“

Mycroft’s recognizable, villainous laugh sounded through the phone and Sherlock looked adorably flustered. He stuck a hand on his hip and glowered.

“Goodness, _this_ is awkward. I was only joking. I suppose it makes sense, though, what with you being a hero in the papers and all—“

“Mycroft, I asked you a question. _What_ do you _want_?”

The laughing stopped but Molly could still hear the smug, trademark wicked smile in his voice as he cleared his throat.

“Simply to update you on the state of things. 221B is fully restored, and I’m told your landlady has safely returned there—“

Sherlock rolled his eyes so far back Molly was concerned for a moment.

“I think this _pressing_ information can wait. Goodbye.”

“Let me finish,” answered Mycroft’s hurried voice. “You’re needed at the station immediately. Eurus is being questioned and Greg Lestrade requested your presence. Says she’s hardly speaking, except to inquire after you. We believe she might be more… open, if you were to attend the questioning as well.”

Sherlock seemed to consider a moment then glanced at Molly uncertainly. It entertained her a little that he was actually considering sex with her over further unlocking the mind and past of his own psychopathic family, but as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t keep him there. She smiled at him from the bed and mouthed _go, it’s fine_. He nodded and turned his attention back to the phone.

“On my way.”

“Wonderful,” Mycroft drawled. After a beat, he added, “Give my regards to Miss Hooper, won’t you?”

Sherlock glared at the phone and hung up before practically slamming it back on the dresser and heaving a heavy sigh. He went to retrieve his shirt and blazer and began putting them back on. It was a sad sight to see for Molly. She forced a little smile and a chuckle.

“Bad timing.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he buttoned his shirt and made a sound of agreement. “Quite. We’ll have to pick up where we left off some other time, I suppose.”

Molly’s heart skipped a little at that and the forced smile turned genuine. “Deal.”

He finished getting dressed and stuck the phone in his pocket, then hesitated. He kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke.

“Molly, what I was about to say before he called me—“

She stood up and went to him to give him a peck on the cheek.

“You can tell me later. Don’t worry about it.”

He still refused to meet her eyes and sounded even more uncertain than he looked.

“No, I—I’ll just give you the short version, before I go.”

Molly wrinkled her brow and gave him a confused little smile. “Short version of what?”

He drew in a deep breath and finally looked into her face, looking so unsure it caught Molly a little off guard. He spoke each word with effort, as if he was forcing them out against his will.

“I didn’t say it while Eurus had us trapped, partly because I didn’t fully realize it at the time, but… the inscription on the coffin didn’t help me narrow it down by considering who loved me.”

Molly tilted her head, perplexed. “I thought you said that’s how you knew the coffin was mine.”

“No. The type and size of the coffin helped me to deduce that, but the inscription did not. It could be said that several people ‘love’ me. Irene Adler, for example, and Janine did, at least at one point. Even John and Mrs. Hudson. Not in a romantic way, granted, but love all the same. It fully occurred to me later that the inscription was for _me_. It was meant to force me to think who the one person is I could say those words to, and genuinely mean them. That’s how I knew it was yours.”

Molly’s breath hitched and she could’ve sworn her heart stopped altogether. She had to be misinterpreting. Right?

“You mean you…” Her voice came out breathless and in more of a broken sounding whisper than she wanted.

He nodded slowly and set his hands on her hips. “Yes, Molly. I love you.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers one last time, a slow, tender kiss that left her knees shaking and about to buckle. He pulled back and smiled at her wistfully.

“Unfortunately, I’m late for an interrogation with the serial murderer who happens to be my sister, so the rest of this will have to wait.” He swept through her home and draped the Belstaff on his shoulders in that ridiculously dramatic way he had and Molly felt like she was watching Superman donning his uniform to go fight crime.

He stepped out the door, then stuck his head back in with a dry little grin adorning his features.

“I’ll call you after it’s over so we can continue this. You know where to find me.”

With a wink and a flourish of his coat he was gone, and the smile on Molly’s face never left for a moment between his exit and her arrival at 221B later that evening.


End file.
